


When You Are Done

by commaSameleon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Erase episode 20 from your mind, F/M, M/M, Multi, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, The Empty as Anna Milton, this is what really happened rather than the dumpster fire that was the SPN finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commaSameleon/pseuds/commaSameleon
Summary: It's very sad that unfortunately there was never a SPN finale and that Season 15 episode 19 was the last one that aired, but the beauty of that is, it left so much open for the future of Sam and Dean, alive, doing things like they've always done--screwing destiny right in the face and getting back their loved ones and found family at any cost.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 189





	When You Are Done

_Dean. I know what you’re going to ask. Sam is asking it of me too._

Dean remembered the words that had flowed into his mind the moment Jack raised his hand in farewell, in the middle of that once desolate, empty street that had returned to vibrant, brimming life. As Dean drove the Impala, Sam asleep in the passenger seat, he thought back, turning the words over and over and over again in his thoughts.

_I can’t bring Cas and Eileen back to you. Not because I don’t want to._

Dean remembered the look in Jack’s eyes when he murmured these words into his consciousness without actually uttering them aloud. The love, the empathy, the commiserating agony that was flowing through Dean’s body at the time, just listening to Jack deny him and his brother the only things that they would ever have asked from him from that point onward. Now, Sam shifted in the passenger seat, turning his head toward the window and leaning his forehead against the glass. Dean let a tear slide down his cheek.

_Not because I don’t want to. Because there’s an order for things. A balance. Now that I’m...well, now that things are finally back to the way they’re supposed to be, I have responsibilities. Obligations. Considerations that I can’t ignore._

Sniffing so he wouldn’t let the hiccupping sob escape and wake Sammy, Dean let his eyes glaze over as he watched the road ahead of Baby’s headlights, the glowing circles reminiscent of haloes in the surrounding darkness of the countryside. Such imagery made his lip quiver and he grimaced, biting the insides of his cheeks.

_I’m sorry. I love you both. You’ll be all right. You’ll do what you’ve always done. And when you do it, I’ll be there, but I won’t stand in your way. I can promise you that, at least. Take care of yourselves. You’re free now. Truly free. No manipulation. No choices made for you. Just you and Sam, together, making your own way. Your own choices. Without any interference, or nudges, or divine intervention._

Dean finally pulled off into the dirt of the shoulder, trying his best to keep Baby from rocking too hard. Sam stirred briefly to readjust his shoulder and temple against the side of the car, but swiftly fell back into sleep. Dean killed the engine, rubbing his jaw with his hand, feeling the wetness of his tears and tasting the salt on his lips.

_Good luck._

Luck? Good luck? The kid was freaking God, for fuck’s sake, and he was sending them off with a, “Yeah, sorry, rules are rules, but break a leg out there”? Dean would have laughed at the absurdity if he wasn’t fighting back the urge to break his driver’s side window with his fist.

If Cas had been there, he would have placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder at that moment, uttering his name in his deep, gravelly tone, saying so much with just that one syllable. “Dean,” meant, “Dean, calm down or you won’t be able to focus.” Or, “Dean, I know you’re angry, but you don’t know what Jack’s going through, there’s probably a good reason behind all of this.” Or, “Dean, I’m sorry, I promise we will find a way to fix this, please don’t be upset.” He could almost hear Cas’s voice, the feeling was like sticking his finger in a light socket, and goosebumps rippled across every inch of Dean’s skin.

Gripping his hair with his calloused, dirty fingers, Dean leaned forward, resting his weight against the steering wheel. He breathed and sat, silent and despairing and confused and lost, for at least an hour. Finally, he sat up and back. In his sitting, and thinking, and fuming, and pining, he had been twisting Jack’s words around and around trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to deal with this, and he’d suddenly realized something.

_You’ll do what you’ve always done._

What they’d always done. What had he and Sam always done? Well, they never took no for an answer, that was for damn sure. It didn’t matter who was telling them to give up—angels, demons, monsters, Death, God—he and his brother always threw logic out the window and went barreling ahead anyway. They’d always said screw you right in the face to destiny, fate, limits, rules. They’d always keep pushing on until they found a way to get what they wanted, no matter how long it took, no matter what it took.

There definitely had to be a way to bring Cas and Eileen back. Hell, Sam had used one of Rowena’s voodoo ritual things to bring Eileen back before, why couldn’t he summon her ghost and do it again? He had to have something of hers that they could use to awaken her ghost, and then it was just a matter of doing the same ritual as before.

And Cas?

_I have responsibilities. Obligations. Considerations that I can’t ignore._

Obligations. Sam had told Dean about his conversation with the Empty before, when trying to get God’s book. He’d mentioned that the Empty and God had an agreement or something, right? That God would leave the Empty alone, and the Empty wouldn’t be able to come to Earth or any other plane that God didn’t want it to, unless it was specifically summoned.

But if it was summoned…

_You’re free now. Truly free. No manipulation. No choices made for you. Just you and Sam, together, making your own way. Your own choices._

If Dean chose to summon the Empty, somehow, and figured out a way to convince it to give Cas back…

_And when you do it, I’ll be there, but I won’t stand in your way. I can promise you that, at least._

If it was Dean’s choice, Jack wouldn’t interfere—that’s what he was saying. Right?

Dean tried to sleep for a few hours at least, leaning back in the Impala’s seat and closing his eyes, but he was suddenly filled with an electric, hot energy that was desperate to get the ball rolling on this. Dean’s choice. If he chose it himself, he had God’s word from his own mouth that he wouldn’t interfere. If he figured out a way to get this right, he could fix it. He could fix everything.

* * *

  
“Sam…”

Dean had to avert his eyes after this moment—he heard the ruffling and heavy breaths of his brother and Eileen as they embraced. The ritual had gone perfectly, just as it had the first time, of course—Sammy had really been Rowena’s prodigy. There was a gasp, Sam’s pain and longing exploding from him in a rush as he undoubtedly clung to Eileen, molding his body against hers, and then Dean heard Eileen’s breathy chuckles.

“It took you long enough,” she said, and Sam and Dean laughed simultaneously.

“It’s ok Dean, you can turn around,” she told him, and Dean raised his eyebrows, hesitating. He heard a snort behind his back as Sam laughed, unabashed joy ringing through the room. When Dean finally did turn fully back, he saw Eileen was wrapped in the towel Sam had been holding for her for when the ritual was over. She was dripping on the concrete floor, and Sam was practically suctioned to her, his clothes spouting damp spots where her skin pressed into him.

“I’d hug you, but…” Dean gestured to her, wet and clinging to Sam and grinning, and she laughed.

“You’re forgiven. You owe me one though,” she warned, pursing her lips and dipping her head in a mockingly stern expression. Dean grinned in response.

“Absolutely,” Dean responded, and Eileen grinned back. Sam, who had been pressing his face into Eileen’s hair wistfully, inhaling the scent her, reveling in the tangible, solid, real body of the woman he loved finally being back in his arms, brought his gaze up to his brother’s.

“Just give us tonight,” Sammy said to Dean, two little lines puckering between Sam’s eyebrows as he uttered this, his eyes darting swiftly back to Eileen, as if he was terrified that if he didn’t keep her in his view she’d disappear. Eileen turned her face back toward Sam’s, and he leaned in and rested his forehead and nose against her cheek, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Dean swallowed painfully, the sight of them so sublimely happy and in each other’s arms making his own body ache with longing.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you get some actual sleep at some point,” Dean raised his finger and pointed at Eileen and Sam, waggling it so it went from left to right, Eileen to Sam and back, over and over, while he smirked. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

The couple started toward the door, both ducking their heads in clear embarrassed excitement. “And turn on some Zepp, so you don’t wake the neighbors, huh?” Dean suddenly spouted, raising his eyebrows, and Sam turned at the door to send Dean an accusing yet sheepishly satisfied glare before darting out of the room.

* * *

  
“You really think this is our best shot?”

Sam had several furrows across his forehead, and Dean watched his eyes scan back and forth across the pages of the old, musty book in front of him on the table.

“You don’t think it makes sense?” Dean returned, indignant, and Sam grimaced. Scoffing, Dean leaned forward and gestured with an open palm to the book. “Come on, man! The oldest religion, ever. A final ‘renovation’ of the universe. No interventions from gods, just free will—I mean if this doesn’t sound exactly like what we’ve got here, now, with Jack-”

“I know, you’re right, no, you’re right,” Sam swiftly conceded, waving his hand and nodding his head. “I just…” he flipped some of the pages gingerly, rubbing his hand over his jaw and mouth as he pondered. “I mean, all of it fits, for sure, but what if it isn’t this? And we get down to the wire, shoot our shot, and we were wrong?”

“We’re not wrong, Sam-”

“But what if we are?” Dean sighed, exasperated, shaking his head with a grim smile, and Sam leaned forward in response. “There’s no guarantee, Dean. If you summon the Empty, and ask for this, and we’re wrong, we have a pissed off entity with nothing stopping it from just ripping out our intestines and calling it a day!” Sam got up, following as Dean paced away from the table to grab his beer off one of the bookshelves. Knocking the remnants of its contents back, Dean listened as Sam continued, one hand pointing at his own chest. “I’ve faced off the Empty, I had to make a bargain with it too, and it wasn’t easy to pull off—the thing doesn’t give a damn about anything besides getting its peace and quiet and finally going back to sleep. Waking it up again, after everything that’s already happened, who knows how it’ll react?”

“Okay, I get it, fine,” Dean rumbled, cutting Sam off from rattling off even more reasonable concerns to the, admittedly, Hail Mary of a plan he’d been hashing out for them. He set the empty beer bottle back on the bookshelf and crossed his arms, leaning back against it. Sam took a deep breath and let his arms drop, clearly appeased by Dean showing some sort of sense. Dean smirked, knowing he wasn’t going to be appeased for very long. “So we’ll bring an insurance policy. Something that, if the worst case starts going down, you can use to keep yourself protected from whatever the Empty could try to pull.”

“Like what?” Sam, as Dean knew he would, immediately returned to his indignant state of before, his mouth opening slightly in frustration. Off behind Sam’s left shoulder, Dean watched Eileen suddenly appear from the hall leading off to the kitchen and living quarters. Noticing Dean’s attention had shifted, Sam turned to look at her as well, letting his breath out. Eileen smiled at them both, and lifted the two plates she had in her hands to emphasize the reason for her intrusion into the conversation.

“I know you too well to think you’ll take a break, but you do need to eat, so here,” she set the food down on their table, and Dean’s stomach grumbled as he took in the sandwiches and fries she’d amassed on the plates. Sam smiled at her, facing her completely so she could wrap her arms around his large, long torso and press her cheek into his chest. He folded her against him for a few moments, resting his chin on the top of her head before kissing it and letting her go.

“Thanks, Eileen,” Dean said, making sure to grab her attention with a wave of his hand before speaking. She beamed in response, and Sam thanked her as well, holding her face gently in his wide palms and placing a few soft, gentle kisses on her lips. Dean swallowed, his throat going hollow and his stomach suddenly roiling with more than just hunger.

“We’ll figure out ‘what’ after we eat,” Dean finally answered Sam’s previous question as the two sat down and pulled their plates in front of them. “And whatever it is, we’ll make sure you have it on you and ready to use if the time comes, so you’re safe.” Lifting the sandwich in his hands, Dean surveyed it for the best angle of attack.

“You mean we,” Sam corrected him, and Dean paused. Sam hesitated too at the lack of response, and both of them put their sandwiches back down. “So that _we’re_ safe,” Sam tried again, and Dean continued to stare at his sandwich, expression curiously blank. “Dean-” Sam’s voice was suddenly strained, but before he could keep going, Dean looked up at his brother finally. Whatever he saw in Dean’s eyes brought him up short.

“Sammy,” Dean said warmly, and the two little creases between Sam’s eyebrows emerged, his expression puckering, “what you have, with Eileen…and what you built with the hunters from Apocalypse world, the network…I’m real proud of you. You know that right?”

Blinking, Sam’s forehead wrinkled further at the direction the conversation was seemingly spontaneously taking. Before he could respond, Dean went on, “You’ve got a…truly awesome life ahead of you. You can hunt when you want, rest when you want, knowing that there are others out there fighting the good fight, so you don’t have to for a while. You can marry Eileen,” Dean couldn’t stop the suggestive crooked smile as he said this, the older brother teasing instinctive, and Sam’s face darkened a little in response as he blinked, flustered. “Have a kid if you want, hell have a couple, this place is big enough to house the frigging Duggars,” Dean snorted, and Sam reflexively followed suit despite himself.

“What does any of this have to do with-” Sam tried to interject, but Dean cut him off.

“The point is, you’re going to be all right. You’re going to be happy. And that…that’s been my dream for you our whole lives. My mission.” _Dammit_ , the warmth had suddenly spiked behind Dean’s nose, surprising him, and he pinched his lips together to push the tears away. He hadn’t wanted this to set off any waterworks for either of them, but he had to make sure Sammy understood, and he couldn’t start over now, he was going to have to just barrel along.

Taking a shaky breath in, he continued once more, heading Sam off before he could even get a word out this time, “And now that it’s done, I need…I need my own piece of it, ok?” Dean furrowed his brow, pressing his hands firmly into the tabletop as if trying to physically shove back the wave of tears he could feel heading his way. “I can’t…I don’t want to just…” Jesus, why was there suddenly a boulder in his throat, a bomb in the place his heart once was? Why was saying this to Sam so fucking hard? Sam’s jawline was a razor edge, his nostrils flaring as he began to realize what Dean was getting at.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes and laid his head in his hands. “Sammy, I’m tired.” God, he was so tired. “And I’m lonely.” Holy hell, was he lonely. He’d never felt this alone in his entire life. Not even when Sam had left for college. Not even when Sam was in the cage and Dean was with Lisa. Not even when he was a demon. “Without…without Cas,” his voice broke on the syllable, and he heard Sam moving, shifting in his seat, “everything else is just wrong. It hurts. All of it.” His lips trembled as he felt the tears pooling in his palm, sliding against the skin of his nose and cheeks. “I need him back, Sam. And if I can’t get him back…” he shook his head, sucking his breath in harshly, almost a gasp, and he finally lifted his head. Dean clenched his fists and sniffed hard, scrubbing the tears swiftly off his face before clearing his throat and meeting his brother’s vibrant, laser green gaze.

To Dean’s surprise, Sam’s face was much more relaxed than before. He was looking at Dean, his eyes bright and his mouth a grim line, and nodding his head. “I get it,” Sam murmured to Dean, and Dean leaned back in his chair, the cavity of his chest easing open slightly once again. “All right. I get it.”

“Do you?” Dean asked urgently, raising his eyebrows, and Sam nodded in response, this time very emphatically.

“I do,” Sam answered again, and Dean felt the tension coursing through his limbs start to dissolve. “I can let you go if I have to. I don’t want to,” Sam’s voice hardened briefly through these words, “but I can. If it comes to it, I can.”

“You know if we fail, Jack’ll take good care of me. And I’ll see you on the other side. Okay?” Dean lifted the corners of his mouth into what he knew were the right movements to make a smile, even though the expression didn’t feel the way it was supposed to somehow. Sam took a deep, deep breath, his chest rising, and then falling, as he took in his brother’s words and everything he was being asked to accept.

“Okay, Dean.”

* * *

  
Rubbing his sweaty palms together, Dean looked out of the space between the slats of the wooden wall of the barn. Around him, on every available inch of wooden structural surfaces, symbols and glyphs were painted in blood. It had taken him, Sam, and Eileen a few days to drain enough blood that they were all comfortable with as being enough, without sending any of them into shock and still being able to suture up the wounds. They’d been here since this morning, painting the sigils, using ladders and boxes to get them high enough to mark even the highest points of the ceiling.

Outside, the air was still. No wind stirred the limbs of the dark trees lining the perimeter of the abandoned land they were on. In fact, now that Dean was paying attention, sound in general had fallen very low in his inner ear—like the void you feel when you suddenly need to pop your eardrums. Dean tried this, in fact, but it didn’t help.

“Do you feel that?” Sam’s voice broke the stillness behind Dean, and he turned to stare at his brother, who was standing in the middle of the barn, glancing up slightly with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah,” Dean responded, and Sam flicked his gaze to Dean briefly, lips thinning quickly to acknowledge the answer, before Sam continued his survey of the rest of the barn. Dean was glad that they had insisted Eileen stay behind at the bunker—the stillness and sucking ache that had suddenly permeated the air did not feel pleasant or friendly.

“Let’s go,” Sam finally muttered, gesturing for Dean to return to the makeshift altar they’d constructed from the materials inside the barn when they first arrived that morning. Symbols like the ones surrounding them on the floor, and walls, and beams, and ceiling, also crawled along every inch of the pallet that Dean and Sam had chosen to set up their ritual supplies on. The candles weren’t even flickering, the flames still and perfect bright teardrops in the evening darkness.

With trembling hands, Dean pulled the folded piece of notebook paper from his jacket pocket. Opening it up, the sounds of the paper sliding against itself seemed impossibly loud and grating inside the silence that had taken over the entire barn. Sam, a few yards in front of him, turned and gave Dean a somber nod, encouraging Dean to continue. Swallowing, Dean looked down at the words he’d scrawled a few days ago in excited, fervent need.

As Dean uttered the words from the page, his deep and raspy voice jaggedly stabbing the silent atmosphere around the brothers, a small spot emerged in the center of the floor in the straw-strewn barn. At first, it seemed like a bubbling little pit of oil had decided to break the surface of the Earth, rolling and rippling. But the hole grew, and grew, wider and larger. Sam backed up, quickly moving over to Dean’s side of the barn, clenching something inside his palm very hard.

Dean kept reading, even though his heart was beating so hard and loud that he almost couldn’t hear himself as the words left his lips. The spot on the ground grew and grew, roiling and boiling, until the center of the deep, ebony abyss rose up tall and thick like an obelisk. As Dean muttered the last of the syllables he’d hastily scrawled on his little piece of notebook paper, the complete void of a tower that had risen in front of him rippled and moved itself into a shape. The shape became humanoid, then solidified more, then grew color and details, until a small, thin girl stood at the center of the black pool.

She was very pale, and had long, dark red hair, and completely pitch-black eyes, and was staring so intently at Dean that he gulped involuntarily. He recognized the figure in front of him just as she opened her mouth to smile and say, “Well, well. Dean Winchester. I didn’t expect to be summoned like this so soon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises,” Dean instinctively retorted at the figure that was mimicking the angel Anna, certain that despite the steady, unwavering quality of his voice that his face was clearly giving away the intense, unnerved terror that was coursing through his body. Behind him slightly to his left, Sam shifted and gripped his already tightly clenched fist harder over whatever it was he had in his hand.

“There’s nothing you can offer me that will get you your precious angel back,” Empty-Anna mockingly informed Dean, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking her thin, slightly pink lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dean replied, smirking right back, pulling out every vestige of his poker-playing chops to keep himself looking and sounding cool, calm, collected. “I’m not here to make an offering.”

“Interesting,” Empty-Anna commented, lifting her head slightly. The blackness of her eyes faded, and she stared at him, an icy blue, calculating glance.

“I’m invoking my ordeal for the last judgment.” The statement’s level, even tone did not reflect the fluttering misgivings and anxious second-guessing that were making Dean’s insides roil.

“I’m sorry?” Empty-Anna smiled slightly, her lips opening up just enough to let her teeth peek out. Sam took a step forward, clearly reading Dean’s tension and knowing that his brother needed the reassurance that he wasn’t alone, that they were here for a purpose and they weren’t leaving until it was fulfilled.

“ _Frashokereti_ has begun,” _I think_ , Dean didn’t say out loud but muttered nervously in his head, “which means eventually all of us here on Earth will be judged one final time, without any favors or weigh-ins from you and your Big Dickbag Energy colleagues who control the universes.” As Dean talked, Empty-Anna tilted her head infinitesimally, her face maintaining the same expression so stilly as to be unnatural, unnerving to look at. Pausing a minute to swallow so he wouldn’t have to clear his throat and give away his fear, Dean finished, “I’m choosing to take my ordeal now.”

When Dean had found the Zoroastrian texts in the bunker, at first he wasn’t sure if any of it was useable for their purposes, not until he’d gotten to the part called _Frashokereti_. The final stage of Earth as humanity knew it before the primordial forces of the universe fully rid everything of evil and death, once and for all. Sam and Dean had lived through several apocalypses from several religions, and had become skeptical of any of them truly sticking; however, reading about this specific doctrine, Dean had felt, suddenly, a shifting of puzzle pieces inside of himself, sliding into perfect place.

The more he’d absorbed from the text, the surer he’d become. If there was any chance of getting Cas back, if there was any way to interpret Jack’s parting comments in a way that made sense, this was it. If they were in the third “time,” and _Frashokereti_ was upon the world, what Jack meant about Dean making his own choice, and not standing in Dean’s way, made perfect sense. He could choose to risk his life and roll the dice, using his knowledge to his advantage, and if he played it just right…well, everything would be perfect. For once, Dean Winchester could win, without having to sacrifice anything in return. For once, he could be happy, truly happy, in wide open, endless freedom.

The silence after Dean stated his purpose for calling the Empty rang so loudly in his inner ear that, were he not frozen in a fearful, determined bluff, he would have stuck his finger in it to try to do something, anything about the pressure.

And then Empty-Anna began to laugh.

She dropped her arms, chuckling, her eyes steely on Dean, then she guffawed louder, and louder, and threw her head back, her palms turning outward with the force of her amusement. Dean and Sam shared a quick glance, checking in with each other, and Sam nodded, jaw muscles clenching. The encouragement made Dean stand up a little straighter, and he looked back at the Empty just as she finally stopped her bellowing and brought her gaze back to the man in front of her.

“What a foolish little monkey you are,” Empty-Anna said, voice warm from her laughing fit. He saw the tiniest flicker of her fingers, knew that he had a brief window to grab her attention and hold it in just the right way to play his hand, and so he took it.

“But,” he barked, making her pause, “I want to make a bet with you.”

Her eyebrow arched, the only movement she made. “I thought you weren’t making any offerings, Dean. Such a little liar.”

“It’s not an offering, it’s a wager,” Dean corrected her, hearing the little hint of uneasiness that had slipped out in his voice. Sam took another small step forward, reminding Dean again he wasn’t alone. “I’m taking my ordeal no matter what, I just thought that we might have a little bit of…fun with it. You know. If you’re interested, that is…” Empty-Anna narrowed her eyes, the smile that she was still wearing a plastic mask across her thin face. “I mean, if you’re not, you’re not,” Dean shrugged, dipping his lips downward, feinting nonchalance, “no skin off my back, really…”

A ticking, tsking noise rattled out of the Empty’s motionless mouth, the sound and image eerie in the darkness of the barn, sigils black and numerous and crowding around them in the atmosphere, as if leaning in to hear what would happen next.

“You Winchesters, you never can resist playing with fire, can you?” At last, the Empty moved, closing her lips and pursing them for a minute. Dean tried desperately to keep himself from fidgeting. Finally, she continued, “What is your wager then, silly, stupid boy?”

Taking a deep breath, his gut-wrenching fear easing slightly now that he knew she was going to listen to his pitch, Dean let his shoulders relax as he lifted his chin. “If I’m found righteous, then I want you to release Cas back to Earth, fully restored, angel mojo at 100, all of that.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester, I already knew your desired outcome would involve returning Castiel to you, stop wasting my time and tell me what is at stake for _you_.” Empty-Anna had lost all of her former, fake warmth; she was now staring so strikingly and sadistically at Dean that he would have taken a step backward if he wasn’t actively trying to keep himself in check.

“If I’m not found…worthy, then…” Dean couldn’t stop himself from hesitating just briefly before continuing on, “you can take my human soul with you back to the Empty. Right now.”

Empty-Anna slowly leaned her head back, regarding Dean coolly. “What makes you think that’s anything even remotely enticing to me?” If she hadn’t taken so long to respond, Dean would have found her amused tone and dismissing, smug gaze disheartening, but now he could finally breathe well, for the first time in days. He’d guessed right, he had her on the hook he’d bargained as being tempting. Now it was a matter of sealing the deal.

“A human soul? You’ve never had one all your own, right?” Dean let a teasing, nettling edge creep into his words, the corners of his lips puckering upward. “Draining angels and demons is one thing, all their emotions and experiences are old hat for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a little bored of it, now that you’ve been awakened so many times lately, having to deal with all the melodrama of these other planes. Getting the taste of a human soul, draining that into yourself for the first time, before going back to sleep, all those juicy, new, human dreams?” Dean shook his head, as if he was savoring a delicious, deep feeling.

For a moment, it was like someone had pressed the mute button on the universe—the tense, ethereal, uncanny pressure that had been building and building this whole time finally reached a pinnacle. Then Dean felt a huge, twisting, _wrong_ grip suddenly pulling at his core, and he was moving slowly forward. He knew Sam had to be, at the very least, shifting uncomfortably at this sight, if not yelling at the Empty, warning her against doing anything prematurely to Dean that wasn’t part of his ordeal; Dean, however, couldn’t hear anything, not even the sliding of his boots against the straw and dirt and nails of the barn floor as he came closer and closer to Empty-Anna’s feral, jagged scowl.

Finally, he stopped, inches from the Empty’s upturned face. Staring into her wildly wide eyes, Dean felt his spine shudder and his stomach bottom out. “I see Samuel has protected himself somehow from my influence,” Empty-Anna hissed, and Dean felt a lurch of dread—what had she tried to do to him? Had he been roped forward like him? No, if she’d noticed he’d drank the potion, she must have failed at whatever it was she’d attempted to do to him too. “How?”

“Mithraic draught,” Dean answered, trying not to grit his teeth, the force that was still gripping the very center, the very essence of him, twisting around, back and forth, like someone idly twirling a strand of hair around their finger over and over.

Empty-Anna grinned, her teeth brilliantly bright somehow in the darkness of the surroundings. “Very clever,” the Empty commended him, and Dean would have sarcastically thanked her if he wasn’t actively keeping himself from gasping. “A pity—it would have been fun to see you utterly devastated before watching you writhe in the ordeal’s molten purification. All that pain and anger and despair…deliciously drained into nothing when I take you inside of me.”

The fact that the Empty had chosen Anna’s likeness made this comment particularly amusing and embarrassing for Dean, and he rolled his eyes while trying to cover up a quick, desperate breath in, steeling himself for whatever was going to happen next. “No offense, but been there, done that,” he responded, fleetingly proud of the amount of strain he was able to keep from his voice.

As the Empty held his gaze, the strong stirring of its force inside of him, Dean waited, refusing to even blink. And then:

“Dean Winchester—I accept the terms of your wager.”

All at once, Dean was released. He dropped to his knees, ragged breaths scraping his throat and lungs. His hands scrabbled against the floorboards, a piece of straw or perhaps a splinter lodging itself in his palm painfully. “Dean,” he heard Sam call to him, and he waved his hands in the direction of Sam’s voice, warding him off, letting him know he was all right. He took a little bit of time to get his bearings back and his heart rate down enough to feel relatively normal again, before raising his head to look up.

The Empty had stepped back a little, and she’d closed her eyes, her palms facing upward and her arms outstretched. Dean hauled himself back up on his feet, watching. Suddenly, the Empty was no longer the sole silhouette standing in front of him. Somehow between one blink and the next, four more figures had materialized, two on one side of Empty-Anna, and two on the other. Dean hastily scanned them all, and he couldn’t keep the expression of surprise off of his face as he recognized them.

“Hello, Dean, Sam,” Jack raised his hand in the strange, stiff greeting Dean had come to know and love over the last year or so. Jack was smiling in his signature, quirky way, and Dean almost smiled back, until he noticed Jack’s eyes. One was almost white, with a tiny pinprick of a pupil in the center, and the other was completely black, empty looking. Lowering his arm, Jack realized what Dean was staring at, and sheepishly nodded. “Sorry, I know it’s a little off putting. Amara has to be awake for this, though, so it’s unavoidable.”

“Jack,” Sam stepped forward a little and Dean spared a glance his way before looking back at their pseudo-son, “can you…see like that?”

“Yes,” Jack answered succinctly, and Dean chuckled.

“Well, boys,” the trilling, Scottish lilt drew the brothers’ attention to the small figure next to Jack, which was so red from head to toe that it like looking at a sunset, “it’s wonderful to see you! I must say, I didn’t expect our next reunion to be such an occasion as this, but what do the details matter when you get to enjoy the company of your dear family and friends!” Rowena grinned and gazed fondly at Jack, running her hand along his arm in a maternal gesture. Jack returned her expression, and Dean shook his head, his mouth opening but words escaping him.

“This isn’t a picnic, _some_ of us take our jobs seriously, so could we get on with this?” The girl who drew Dean’s attention now crossed her arms after spouting this off, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as if working out a kink in her neck. The torn, dirty white dress she was wearing was another bright spot in the heavy darkness of the night, and she tapped a grimy, bare foot against the barn floor impatiently.

“Eve?” Dean and Sam spoke simultaneously here, unable to keep themselves from exclaiming in shock.

“Winchesters,” Eve bit back, grimacing menacingly in their direction, “it hasn’t been long enough, at all. Sorry I missed you in purgatory the last time you visited,” she directed this last statement at Dean, pursing her lips out in a sardonic pout and narrowing her eyes.

“You really can’t help yourselves, can you? No matter what happens, Sam and Dean always find trouble.” The last figure’s deep voice surprised Dean, and when he met the gaze of Death, Death shook his head, regarding Dean with barely contained bitter amusement. “I told you,” Death said to Dean, discontentedly twisting his scythe in his palm, “human disorder incarnate.”

“How are _you_ Death now?” Sam asked Michael, ignoring his sarcastic jabs, and Michael turned to gaze at Sam with a placating sigh. “I mean, I know when Death dies, the next angel that bites it becomes Death, but wouldn’t that have been Lucifer?” Sam clarified his question, squinting at Michael in confusion.

“My brother did not last long as Death,” Michael responded monotonously, and Eve sighed exasperatedly by his side. “Father was not happy with him for screwing up his plan to get the Book of God’s Death. Let’s just say, Lucifer’s usefulness was spent, and Father was in quite a mood—you remember, I’m sure.” The smile that spread across Michael’s face could not have been further from natural, and Dean felt chills ratchet down the notches of his spine.

“Reunions are touching, I get it, can we _please_ move this along now so that I can go back to sleep?” Empty-Anna growled these words through gnashing teeth, drawing everyone’s attention and startling Dean, making him twitch. Jack reached out and touched the Empty’s shoulder sympathetically, and she rolled her eyes in response, but let her clenched fists go.

Taking a deep breath, Jack dropped his hand from Empty-Anna, turning to fix his yin-yang eyes on Dean again. “You understand, Sam doesn’t need to be here for this,” Jack said, as if continuing a conversation on the subject. Dean furrowed his brow, then whipped around to look for his brother, and realized Sam was suddenly gone—the blackness of the barn was only broken up by the smattering of moonbeams reaching through the cracks in the walls and ceiling.

“What-” Dean sputtered.

“He’s perfectly fine,” Jack assured Dean, holding his hands out in reassurance. Dean clenched his jaw in sudden fury, breathing through his nose as he tried to swallow down his knee-jerk reaction to anything potentially threatening Sammy. “I’ve just put him in a safe place back at the bunker. This shouldn’t take very long, and then he’ll be back, a little confused,” Jack quirked his lips up briefly, “but no worse for wear.”

Gulping back a swift and unexpected lurching fear in his gullet, Dean took a moment to process this information, and then nodded nervously. “Okay,” he said, and Jack’s smile widened.

“Let’s begin,” Jack then declared, and the night suddenly shifted around Dean, turning sideways for a moment before dissolving into…blankness. Nothing. The five figures in front of him remained, but seemed to be suspended in this void, and looking down at his feet he realized that though it felt like he was still standing on firm, solid Earth, nothing was there.

“Why don’t you start, since Dean’s made his…deal with you,” Jack directed this statement at Empty-Anna, who sneered at Dean in response.

“Gladly,” she responded, and closed her eyes. After a pause, during which Dean tried and failed to imagine a million different things that could possibly happen in the next second, the Empty opened her mouth and eyes suddenly wide, throwing her head back. Erupting from her mouth, her eyes, her nostrils, her ears, a thick and suffocatingly…well, empty kind of liquid seemed to pour out and into the air around her, stretching around the four other figures and continuing in a circle to cross streams behind Dean’s back. As Dean watched, the substance flowed like a stream along a smooth bed of rocks around and around, creating a funnel that encapsulated all of them, stretching upward and down as far as Dean could perceive, seemingly endless.

The feelings that were coursing through Dean now were much more potent than before—something inside of his mortal body, deep in the marrow of his bones, trembled at this sight. He was witnessing something, he knew before but suddenly realized much more viscerally, that no other human being on Earth ever witnessed before, and wasn’t meant to, not until their own time. His mouth was open in unchecked awe and his hands were sweating.

“My turn,” Eve called out, her tone a mocking reflection of excitement. Smirking at Dean one last time, she closed her eyes just as the Empty had done before, and then threw her head backward in the same fashion Empty-Anna had, mouth and eyes flinging open widely. The liquid that oozed from her orifices, however, was different from the Empty’s: while it too was black, there was something oily and iridescent about it, a reflective sheen mixing with the Empty’s dull and even tone.

As Eve’s contribution to the tide completed its circle and mingled fully with the Empty’s, Dean now noticed a low, rushing sound rising around them all, like the forceful roaring of a strong waterfall. His breaths were quickening, saliva flooding his mouth in fear. Without flourish or parting comment, Michael let his head fall forward for a moment, taking a breath and becoming perfectly still, before he too opened himself up and poured forth. The liquid surprised Dean—foamy and light, it almost resembled milk, and seemed thinner than the two before, as it very quickly integrated itself into the whirlpool whirring around them.

“I can’t believe my very first ordeal gets to be for you, my dear boy,” Rowena’s bright, clear brogue made Dean meet her gaze, and she tilted her head and clasped her hands, smiling with her perfectly colored lips in a pleased and amused pucker. “Good luck, Dean,” she warmly wished, and then dropped her folded hands and closed her eyes, the large fans of her eyelashes curling against her skin like glittering spiders perching upon her face. In true Rowena fashion, her opening up was the most dramatic—she flung her arms wide, fingers splayed out as much as possible, and let her head fly so far backward she arched her back into an elegant bend, like a bow ready for an arrow to be knocked. What flowed from her eyes, mouth, nose, and ears was very obviously blood, spraying forth in arterial spirals. The flecks and spots splattered her skin and soaked into her flowing ball gown and huge, coiffed hair; she was the figure of a bygone era, a druidic goddess bathing in the sacrifices of her worshipful followers.

The sound was now much louder, like a maelstrom out in the deepest center of the Atlantic Ocean, fierce and powerful and natural and transcendent. Dean’s heart was beating so hard in his chest he was sure his ribs were cracking, one by one. He was panting openly, watching the swirling substances circling over and over and over around him, knowing now that they would all, eventually, come crashing over him, and unable to imagine not being entirely torn apart by the sheer force of it.

“Now that it’s just us…” Jack grabbed Dean’s attention, and Dean tried to straighten his shoulders, realizing he’d become slightly hunched inward watching the gushing tornado. When he met Jack’s mismatched stare, Jack smiled slightly and continued, “You’re more than entitled to be scared, Dean, you don’t have to hide that from me.”

Dean wasn’t sure he would be able to hide it even if he gave the effort all of his strength, but he scoffed breathlessly and said, “Yeah, well, the _Sixth Sense_ meets _Exorcist_ vibes going on are a nice touch, very macabre, but if you were trying to scare me off, no dice.”

Jack chuckled, and dimples formed in his cheeks, the sight making Dean’s heart ache with nostalgia. “I wouldn’t dream of even trying,” Jack replied, and Dean knew he meant it by the way his brow wrinkled in a very nearly identical replica of Sam’s own expression of sincerity. “I do want to give you one last chance to change your mind, however. Not because I want you to, or think you should. Just a blanket, free offer. You’re…my dad. Don’t tell the others, but that comes with a few extra perks, I guess.”

Dean let out a few gruff, low guffaws at this, dipping his head and nodding. Finally, he met his son’s gaze again and said, “Thank you, really…but no. I’m good. I’m ready for this. But your secret’s safe with me,” he added at the end, smirking. Jack’s face, contrastingly, grew somber and serious, and he gave Dean a solemn nod in return.

“Then I hope you succeed. If you do, I’ll be very glad. If you don’t…ah, we can cross that bridge if we get to it,” Jack concluded. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Goodbye, kid,” Dean returned in a throaty croak, feeling his lower lip tremble.

Jack closed his eyes.

When he opened them, and let his jaw drop open as well, Dean didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but whatever it had been, this wasn’t it. Where his eyes, his teeth, his tongue once were, there was simply flowing, crystal clear water, so transparent that were it not running in a swift current out of each opening, it may have appeared like glass rods had impaled Jack and suspended him in place. The water joined the circling tides of the other substances in a matter of a few seconds, and the roaring sound of the funnel crescendo-ed so loudly that Dean clapped his hands reflexively over his hears, gritting his teeth.

Gasping, he saw the figures in front of him begin to slowly rise upward, and the swirling walls of his ordeal began closing in around them all. As they rose higher and higher, the circling waves tightened and tightened and soon swallowed Michael, Eve, the Empty, Rowena, and Jack, all in turn. Dean had one last moment to take a shuddering breath in, before the vortex collapsed.

Dean was engulfed.

* * *

  
Floating, or falling, or rising, or somewhere in between, Dean Winchester existed but also didn’t exist. He was alive and himself, and he was nothing at all and completely infinite. The feeling of gentle, perfect, stillness in the middle of the sea, or spiraling slowly and carelessly through the void of space. Peace. It was pure, primordial peace.

Dean could have stayed like this forever. Eons in time could have passed by without him aware of it, or it could have been the thinnest sliver of a second between one of his cells shifting to a new place inside his body. His body…

It ended when he realized he had a body. Yes, that was right—he was supposed to have a body, that’s what humans had, didn’t they? Human, yes, Dean Winchester was a human, with a body, and he was alive, and he was awakening.

Awakening brought with it everything left for Dean to remember, and now, although it was still black nothingness in front of him, that was only because he had not yet opened his eyes. He breathed, feeling his lungs expand, feeling oxygen course through his blood and flow through his limbs, his arms, his legs, his feet, his hands, his face. With this, sound returned to him as well, and touch, and now Dean Winchester was very much a human being with a body, because his body was heavy, and stiff, and cold, and there was something hard pressing against the back of it, and something strong and tight gripping his arms, and a voice, his brother’s voice, shoving his name into his ears.

“Dean!” Dean opened his eyes, and stared up into Sam’s jutting, tense face. When he met Sam’s gaze, Sam let out a forceful breath, tension easing from his brow and his jaw, lowering his shoulders. “Hey, you good? You’re good, here,” Sam leaned sideways and let go of Dean’s arms so he could rap his own under Dean’s armpits and around his back, hoisting Dean up, first into a sitting position, then with a grimace and a grunt fully up onto his feet.

“What happened?” Sam asked him, voice gruff, and Dean blinked taking in their surroundings.

“I…” he was still in the barn, but it wasn’t how it should have been. They’d started the summoning in the dead of night, and now it was clearly day—light was flooding through the holes and spaces between the boards, particles of dust and hay floating lazily through the air. They’d also spent the entire previous day covering every inch of that barn in sigils, and yet all of them were now gone, completely, as if they’d never been written. Dean squinted, holding his own weight finally for the first time, and Sam let him go while Dean adjusted his jacket and rolled his shoulders.

“We were talking to Michael, and then all of a sudden I was just back at the bunker, in one of the safe rooms,” Sam began explaining his own recollections when it became clear Dean was having difficulties recalling his. “The door was locked, my phone was gone somehow, and I was about to bust the door open when I just showed back up here, again, and I don’t know how, or what…?” Sam opened his long arms wide, indicating he was at a loss. Dean thought that made two of them. “But you were right here in front of me on the floor, and that’s it, I grabbed you and you woke up, and now…”

Before either of them could begin trying to make heads or tails of the experience, rustling drew their attention behind them, near the barn doors. The sight that greeted Dean’s eyes almost made his knees buckle, a potent current of energy washing through him. “Holy shit, it worked,” Sam breathed by his side, and Dean began lurching forward.

Castiel, angel of Thursday, warrior of heaven, was just pushing himself up from his knees, his tan trench coat sweeping against the dirt and rubble of the barn floor as he straightened himself, flexing his hands and looking at them, his brow low.

“Cas!” At the sound of Dean’s gravelly cry, Cas finally looked up, turning toward the Winchester brothers just as Dean reached him, and then Dean had his arms around Cas, and felt him, solid and warm and real and alive and _here_ , really _here_ , and Dean let out a sound that was a mixture of a sob and laugh, before he grinned and buried his face for a minute in Cas’s shoulder.

“Dean!” Cas’s deep voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Dean’s face as it traveled through his throat, and Cas’s arms gingerly returned Dean’s embrace. The firm pressure made Dean grin against the material of Cas’s trench. “How…what did you do? How did this…?”

“It’s good to have you back, Cas,” Sam’s voice prompted Dean finally to release Cas, and he sniffed back the emotions that had snuck up his throat, clogging his voice for the moment. Sam wrapped Cas in his long arms, and Cas returned the hug, his forehead creased with confusion as he closed his eyes briefly. When he and Sam let the other go, Dean reached out and placed a hand firmly on Cas’s shoulder.

“What happened? Is everything all right? You two-”

“Everything’s perfect now,” Dean cut Cas off with this roughly toned phrase, staring at the rigid, familiar planes of Cas’s face and feeling a flowing warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight.

“But…then why…?” Cas let his question trail off, and suddenly Dean’s mouth went dry. His pulse beat hard and swift against his vocal cords, and he cleared his throat, glancing up at Sam involuntarily.

“Come on, let’s go home, we can catch you up on the way,” Sam responded to Cas after a second went by, and Dean let his breath out, relieved. The brothers, grinning to themselves, led Castiel with them out of the barn toward the Impala, parked on the edge of the clearing, and when the sun fully hit them, for the first time in a long time Dean turned his face toward its rays and sighed, sending up a silent, unintelligible prayer of thanks. Whether anyone heard it, it didn’t matter, but Dean let himself briefly imagine Jack, sitting up on a white chair somewhere in heaven, smiling in response.

* * *

  
“He said Amara was a part of him now? That they were balanced?” Cas asked as they made their way down the spiral staircase after entering the bunker.

“Yeah, basically,” Sam responded as he reached the floor first, in time to catch Eileen’s fervent greeting hug. They held each other for a few moments, Cas and Dean making their way to the bottom of the stairs as the couple swayed a little in their embrace, and when they pulled back slightly Sam planted a kiss on Eileen’s forehead.

“I knew you’d get him back,” Eileen said with a big grin, and she disentangled herself from Sam, reaching for Castiel, who smiled back at her and accepted her hug easily. “Welcome home,” Eileen said to him, her arms reaching up and around his neck.

“Thank you, Eileen,” Cas replied warmly, letting her go and turning to face Dean, watching as Eileen fondly patted Dean’s arm and smirked. “But, then,” Cas continued the conversation they’d been having when walking in, “if Chuck’s still alive, but mortal, are you sure he can’t become a problem again?”

“Jack seemed pretty sure Chuck wouldn’t be a threat anymore, he’s completely drained of all his Alpha and Omega and whatever,” Dean responded, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and nodding.

“Then...I don’t understand,” Cas’s voice took on an almost perturbed edge, and Dean felt a spike of uncertainty shoot down his spine. Cas looked back and forth between Sam and Dean, settling on Dean finally, and he asked, “why did you bring me back?”

“What?” The syllable was involuntary, a reflex to Dean’s sudden dread that was creeping through his stomach and making his palms start to tingle. He couldn’t break from Cas’s gaze, which was bright and wide, the potent blue seeming to almost glow in the low lighting of the bunker’s entry room.

“If you didn’t need me to help you with something, why did you resurrect me?” Cas elaborated on his previous question, but it did little to assuage Dean’s adversely affected disposition, and he swallowed hard, licking his lips.

“Uh,” Sam interjected, and Dean was thankfully able to glance away from Cas as Cas turned his eyes toward Sam. Instead of answering Cas however, much to Dean’s dismay and terror, Sam shared a pointed look with Eileen, and then directed these words at her: “Why don’t we go start making some breakfast? Or brunch, or whatever kind of food for whatever time it is right now?” Sam raised his eyebrows, and Eileen nodded immediately.

“Sam,” Dean helplessly called as the two clasped hands and began leaving Cas and Dean alone by the staircase.

Looking back, Sam pressed his lips together in an apologetic but firm expression that Dean knew meant that he wasn’t going to suddenly turn back around and stay. Dean felt his eyes drying out as his wide, panicking gaze followed Sam’s and Eileen’s figures until they were out of sight down the hallway leading toward the kitchen. His heart beat fast and loud in his ears as he was forced to look back at Cas, who locked eyes with him immediately.

“Dean?” The sound of Cas saying his name would never cease to affect Dean Winchester in a myriad of ways all at once—the deep tone rumbling down to the base of his spine, the familiar way the word left Cas’s lips drawing Dean’s rapt attention to his mouth, Dean’s pulse quickening as everything else in his head fell from his thoughts like they were all diving off a cliff. When Dean didn’t respond fast enough, Cas turned his palms outward at his sides, sighing and settling his mouth into a serious, thin line.

“Listen I…I know how you let the guilt of losing someone weigh you down even when it isn’t your fault, I know that, but…” Cas made a movement with his shoulders that resembled a shrug and a fidget of discomfort simultaneously, and Cas lowered his eyes to fixate somewhere around the area of Dean’s knees instead of his face. “I thought I…well I thought I made it clear that I was…at peace with my decision, that you didn’t have to worry about those kinds of regrets for me. I made my choice knowing exactly how you…how you felt, and saving you was a…joy for me, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” After these words, Cas took a sharp breath in and nodded once, swallowing as he met Dean’s gaze again. “You didn’t need to do this, you don’t owe me anything. I gave my life freely. I’d do it again, without hesitation.”

“I know you would,” Dean said, voice hoarse, soft.

“So you have nothing to feel guilty for,” Cas assured him, the only hint of this being a difficult conversation for him a slight puckering between his eyebrows, a tightening of his lips together. Dean surprised them both, then, as he let out a breathy, short chuckle, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

“I didn’t save you out of guilt,” Dean directed these words at the ground, unable to bring himself to look up, unable to keep the words at bay any longer, “you dumb son of a bitch.” Rubbing his face roughly with his hands, he heard Cas move, probably indignantly, but he had no idea for sure, as in the next moment, Dean closed the distance between them.

When Dean Winchester’s lips finally pressed against Castiel’s, he could feel Cas’s jolt of surprise, the tremor that shook through him at the touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about the lack of warning, because he was really doing this, he was kissing his best friend, he was kissing Cas, after so long of imagining the sensation, wondering what words would precede the act, fantasizing about the moment for years as he laid awake in the middle of the night, staring up into a dark ceiling and seeing only a pair of bottomless blue eyes. Dean was kissing Cas. And it was glorious, and warm, and rough, and an explosion of shivering pleasure and overwhelming joy and satisfying rightness, and he felt his hands reach up to hold Cas’s face, and felt Cas’s arms close around his waist, and felt the heat of Cas’s chest and stomach press into his, and felt Cas’s lips molding themselves to the shape of his, and there was nothing on Earth or in Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or any other universe that could have ever prepared Dean for this, no former experiences with previous partners or feverish dreams filled with half-understood desires could have encapsulated the full scope of this moment, how every molecule of Dean’s body and heart and mind and soul reoriented itself into utter, perfect completion.

When their kiss finally broke, Cas’s breath washed over Dean’s flushed face, their noses brushing together as Dean leaned his forehead against Cas’s and swallowed. “I saved you,” Dean said, “because I love you too, Cas. I love you.” The words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so many years now tripped off of it effortlessly now, almost in a rush, as if they’d been just waiting for him to set them free.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, not a question, but an avowal of the reality of the situation, a confirmation of this long overdue moment between them.

“And I should have told you that sooner, and I’m sorry,” Dean finished, licking his lips and sighing. To his surprise, Cas let out a shaky laugh, and at last Dean pulled back enough to look Cas in the eyes, the first time after finally saying it out loud, after finally telling him the truth, and Cas’s eyebrow was arched upward, the deep pools of his eyes shining with a teasing adoration.

“Leave it to you to find a reason to apologize, even for this,” Cas said, smirking, and Dean laughed in response. Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s torso, pulling him back to touch Dean’s forehead once again to his own. “Winchesters.”

“ _You_ chose this, remember,” Dean murmured, feigning disgruntled offense, but unable to wipe the blissfully amused smile off his face.

“Yes, I did.” Cas’s voice was firm, deep, and resolute, and Dean felt his chest constrict with the almost painful conviction of the words. “And always have, and always will. Forever.”

Dean made a satisfied hum. “Forever,” he agreed.

And their lips met again.

**Author's Note:**

> Zoroastrianism has always been fascinating to me. I mean no disrespect to anyone who actively practices Zoroastrianism. Not all of my choices in the story reflect Zoroastrianism as inspirations, and I in no way mean to insinuate that my work of fiction is meant to seriously depict the Zoroastrian doctrine of Frashokereti, or that my depiction should be taken as completely accurate to Zoroastrian doctrines or that my depiction is the correct or only way to interpret Frashokereti. Please let me know if you have criticisms of this or anything concerning my work and I will take it seriously.


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